Wild
by TheLadyAranel
Summary: AU-do not like, please be kind enough to leave alone- Saved by Jaime Lannister as a babe from the clutches of the Mad King once her father-Brandon Stark-was murdered, Ingrid Snow is tossed into the Game by chance. Aided by her new found Wildling friend, Dagr, Ingrid battles not only the complex feelings she bears Jaime, but also the threat to her family &the White Walkers. Jaime/OC


**Jaime/OC and possible OC/OC. Comments are welcome. It's for sure different, but if you'd like to give it a read through that'd be awesome. :)**

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"You understand why he did it, don't you Lord Bran?" Ingrid stared down at her young cousin, draping her hands over his small shoulders. Any comfort she could give him she gave carefully-it was a daunting thing for a boy of ten to witness his first beheading.

"He's a traitor-that's what Theon said." His voice was a whisper against the plumed clouds that formed against his lips.

"Theon Greyjoy is an invalid," His cousin spat. "Do you understand _why _Lord Stark was the one to swing the sword?"

Bran pulled his brows together in deep thought-there had been so much blood. The man sentenced to die was a ranger of the Night's Watch; a member of the Night's Watch was forbidden to leave their post. Abandonment was a death sentence and the man Bran's father had executed broke his oath. It was the way things were. "Because our way is the old way…because father is Warden of the North."

Ingrid smirked and ruffled the little lord's hair before rubbing her own hands together to try and bring warmth back to them. "The man who passes the judgment must swing the sword-for if he cannot, perhaps the man sentenced shouldn't die." It felt odd to quote her uncle-the Lord of Winterfell. It felt odd even now to remember he was her uncle.

Bran nodded and squinted up towards the tower and then to the gate. He needn't say a word for Ingrid to know what was on his mind. As if the execution hadn't been enough to jumble a young boy's thoughts-mentions of White Walkers and the Wildling prisoner would have done it. It seemed their quiet lives were now disrupted by deserters and plunderers; neither setting well with Ingrid herself. It was then she took note of the Lady Catelyn standing tall against the balcony of the outer castle, and Ingrid could feel her gaze upon them. "Your mother is looking," She whispered. "Best hold your head high-we mustn't let her worry. She has far too much to deal with at the moment."

"What do you mean?" Bran turned his head in the direction of his mother and shielded his eyes from the sun with one hand. "What's happened now?"

"Haven't you heard? Jon Arryn has died and the King is on his way to Winterfell. It's your mother's duty to see the preparations dealt with." And Ingrid would be stuck with the grunt work.

Their thoughts then were disturbed as a shout echoed through out the tower; the prisoner was being transported. No attempt at making the Wildling a secret, Eddard Stark had ordered him moved from the tower to the dungeon beneath the keep. It was a cold and dark place to linger and Ingrid often pitied those unlucky enough to spend their days there. Still, a Wildling was a Wildling-dangerous and untrusting-and the information he carried was valued in the light of the North's current situation. What with rumors of White Walkers and sightings of Giants and Dire wolves this side of the wall. "He's upset I do believe." She jested dryly.

"You would be too if you were caught after being so close to freedom." Ingrid raised a brow as Bran spoke those words-fairly deep for one so young. And in that moment he reminded her of a caged bird whose wings had been clipped. "Look-there he is."

Turning her head up once more, the young woman held her breath. From upon the tower walkways, guards bearing the shields of the Dire Wolf stand on either side of a man-perhaps a little older than Ingrid-who stood tall, against the will of his captures. There was no real way to tell whether the Wildling was being cooperative, seeing as their view had been obscured by the many winding steps that led them down towards the main courtyard and into the open.

"Wildlings-filthy creatures." The voice of Theon Greyjoy sent a seething heat throughout Ingrid's body. As if he hadn't made the situation earlier unbearable by kicking the severed head around like a ball, Ingrid simply could not stand his presence in general. The Iron Island native sparked a flame of hatred within Ingrid Snow, and when he belittled Wildlings-half of her own blood-it took all of her willpower to hold her tongue. After all, he was lord, and she a low-born lady; it wasn't her place to speak out. So instead, she held herself high and stood proudly behind Bran, her hands on his shoulders.

"My Lord, Greyjoy." She nodded curtly at him.

"_Lady _Snow." He offered the same, mocking her openly with title in toe.

Letting go of any anger she held for the islander, soon enough all their attentions were then placed back to the high wall where the prisoner was now facing Lord Stark himself. The Wildling man was taller than the Warden of the North, but his slender figure made him look small in comparison to Ned-who wore his thick fur cloak, all while adorning Ice upon his back. While the two conversed, all the while, Ned's niece thought to herself how proud Bran and his siblings should be of their father. After all, the burden that was placed upon him after the death of Brandon…

"Ingrid," Lord Stark had called out to her, motioning with his hand for her to come closer.

For a moment, her feet were grounded. It wasn't for the fact that her uncle had summoned her forth, as much as it was for the uncustomary act. She was a woman brought forth before a vicious Wildling at the command of her Sovereign Lord-without question. And what could she do? Slowly and with hesitance she placed one foot in front of the other and when Ingrid had finally stood next to her uncle, she looked up at him, feeling small and meek. There was an awkward comfort that surrounded her body as she felt Ned's hand rest at the top of her head, brushing her hair and resting at her back. "This is Dagr-he has requested your presence in exchange for information-as uncommon a request as it may be, we have little choice with his Grace's arrival so soon. It's best if we put this mess to rest once and for all. You understand don't you?"

Ingrid's eyes shot up in question at the Wildling before her. Her presence requested? Why would a man from beyond the wall request her being present-she surely didn't know him. "I'm not sure I do, Lord Stark. I have no ties to this man-"

A smirk that pulled at the corners of the man's thin lips hushed the girl quietly, and teased her memory most unfairly. He didn't speak, and he knew well enough that he needn't say anything. It was well known of her parentage-from Kings Landing, to Riverrun and everywhere in between. Why would it be any different north of The Wall? This man called Dagr knew her blood was Wildling and that was that. As the realization washed over her body, Ingrid frowned and looked the man up and down coyly, telling herself that she had since been educated and never knew her mother or her mother's people and therefore had no true connection to this man. It helped little to none however and in the end she knew regardless of how she felt for the situation, she would obey her Lord. "How can I be of service?"

Eddard pulled his brother's daughter from earshot of Dagr and both Stark and Snow looked back to see his expression. The Wildling was blank. "He will only speak to you of matters concerning the boy that was executed today. I would never think of putting you in danger Ingrid-you are my elder brother's only child-but with Robert's arrival come the morrow I have no choice." Her uncle's words were steady, and carefully spoken. It was clear he detested the idea.

"Does Aunt Catelyn know of this?" Ingrid tried her best to hide the humor in her words, but the chuckle had slipped out regardless. It was no secret that Lady Catelyn Stark had certain abhorrence for her and her cousin, Jon, yet all the same she loved the girl. Ingrid knew if Catelyn had caught wind of this arrangement with the Wildling called Dagr, it would be put to a stop before it ever truly started. The answer to her question was well read upon Eddard's face. "Don't worry uncle-I won't tell a soul…after all, what harm can one Wildling do? The guards will be certain to keep an eye upon him, and I'm sure they have some kind of respect for their own kin." She could only hope.

Ned Stark raised a brow in all seriousness for the situation at hand but nodded curtly and raised a hand for the guards to bring the man forward once more. Again that smile sprawled out across Dagr's features, his dark eyes dancing wildly as he bowed humbly before Lord Stark. For Ingrid, it was hard to believe that this man only moments ago, was screaming like a lunatic from the seven hells. Perhaps he was insane-it was a possibility no doubt. Ingrid knew if she had spent her years beyond the wall in those harsh conditions she would hardly be able to consider herself sane-then again that was probably the sympathy she felt towards Dagr. After all, he was a distant form of kin.

"Shall we pray in the Gods Wood?" Ingrid's voice was soft and collected a grand guise for what her insides screamed. For within she was a nervous wreck and hardly one fit for negotiating anything with a prisoner. Dagr's reaction did not help.

The wildling nodded, eyeing her carefully and taking her in with every breath she took. He seemed to strip her of her clothing then and dig deep into her soul, carving out every little emotion that seeped through her pores and into her veins. Ingrid did not like it-not in the least. For her uncle's sake however-she tolerated the man and bid the Lord of Winterfell a proper farewell before motioning for the guards to escort them to the Gods Wood. The short trek there was indeed kept under wraps as best as possible-which was considerably easier now that Catelyn had begun readying Winterfell for the arrival of his Grace, King Robert. In fact, the whole of Winterfell seemed still for all the busy work afoot. Though room were to be tended too and fire lit to warm them, Ingrid knew most attentions would be within the castle's walls and not out and about in the cold air; for this she was grateful. And it wasn't that she detested the thought of being seen with a Wildling like Dagr. It was more of what others would say to her and how they would treat her if they saw her with him. All of her life she had been put out for her mother's blood-for being the daughter of a Stark who took a Wildling mistress…some things haunt you even after all those long years.

Ingrid's mind broke from its wandering when she heard Dagr humming a tune she had not heard before. It seemed an ancient lament to those who died in battle-far from home and she had to question if he were afraid that death would find him here in Winterfell and if that should happen, if he had family beyond the wall that would mourn him. "Do you always sing such sad songs?" Her tongue was perhaps short and curt with him-though she told herself that he was after all a prisoner and deserved nothing less for putting her uncle and herself in such a situation to bargain with him.

"Aye lass, I'm fond of the sad ballads. They let ye see the truth in all things." His voice was deeper than she expected-humor laced with wisdom in a twisted way she hardly understood. Did he find this predicament laughable? "Sad songs do I always sing in such a way." He winked at her, twisted her question into a sentence that sent Ingrid's mind into a whirl of confusion. What was his game? She quietly hoped two could play it-she the one coming out the victor.

As they reached the entrance to the Gods Wood, Ingrid felt her body ease away-the stress melting from her bones like ice against the great hearth. Here in this sacred place, the girl felt at home and less of a stranger to the world. There was an ancient aura in that place that felt kindred to her; as if her Wildling blood melded together with her ladyship title. "You worship the Old Gods, don't you? My mother had done so-I was never named in the light of the Seven."

The Wildling man looked down at the young girl and for once the expression of humor was no present. Instead, seriousness washed over him and Ingrid had motioned for the guards to release him-but not to cut his bonds. If he was going to give her any information on the attack that befell those rangers north of the wall, Dagr was going to have to feel trusted. That is, as trusted as a Wildling can be. "Dagr…" Ingrid took steady steps around the pool, looking deep into the heart of the dark waters. "What happened to those men? What did they see that had them running from their duty to the Night's Watch?"

"Crows should have run south and never stopped in Winterfell." He trudged over towards the girl slowly, stopping in front of her, looking down. Ingrid held her head up to steady the guards from taking hold of him once more.

"Why is that, Dagr?" She didn't mean to speak to him as though he were a child but the way he spoke was a foreign thing to her and his accent thick and hard to understand.

Dagr grinned again, his dark eyes dancing wickedly. "Aye lass…White Walkers."


End file.
